Cycling through the century

Sport is sweat and competition, trophies and falls, and it is also politics. A great deal of politics. It distorts the thinking of athletes and fans, in ways that are more or less insidious. From the peace of the first Olympic Games in 776 BC to the raised fists of Tommie Smith and John Carlos at Mexico ’68, right through to Lionel Messi, world champion at Qatar 2022, wearing the bisht, the cloak with which Emir Al Thani dressed him. It is not so different in cycling, a means of emancipation, yes, but one that teases both dictatorships and democracies, carries political thoughts in the saddle like sudden sprints, and grinds down independence movements and freedoms with the gruelling climb up Mont Ventoux. That’s cycling, my friend, and Ramon Usall recounts it in A Century Uphill: The Popular and Political History of Cycling, forty episodes on two wheels, as if they were the forty stages of a hypothetical Giro of History from Europe to Africa to the United States. Amidst epic victories and heroic cyclists, the Catalan sociologist delves into the political nuances of cycling in a journey that trains the eye to question whether there is more to a victory than mere hard work and self-sacrifice.

Indeed, the Tour de France, the world’s most famous cycle race, was born out of politics. In 1894, the Dreyfus affair erupted, involving the French soldier of Jewish origin accused of spying for Germany, and the subsequent discovery of the true culprit behind the treason, Major Ferdinand Esterhazy, divided the French people. Pierre Giffard, editor of the newspaper *Le Vélo*, supported Émile Zola’s *i**J’accuse* and denounced discrimination against Jews in France. The advertisers – all manufacturers of cycling equipment and major industrialists with links to the right – took a dim view of the newspaper’s politicisation; they withdrew their advertising and founded a new publication, *L’Auto-Vélo*, which made its debut on 16 October 1900 with its ‘yellow pages’. Despite this, ‘Le Vélo’ dominated the scene, and so here was an idea to make money: Géo Lefèvre, a reporter who had previously worked for the rival publication and was now writing for the new daily, suggested to his editor – during a lunch at the Parisian café Zimmer, located beneath the editorial offices – that they organise a competition involving a cycle tour of France; and on 19 January 1903, *L’Auto* announced on its front page the creation of ‘the greatest cycling race ever seen’. On 1 July 1903, 59 riders gathered outside the *Réveil Matin* for the six stages: 2,428 kilometres that would take them to the finish line in Paris.

The races recalled by Usall follow one another in rapid succession, enriched by numerous period photographs: in 1906, the Tour was barred from entering Alsace and Lorraine – then part of Germany – so as not to fuel French nationalist sentiment, which sought to reclaim those lost regions. Identity is also the central issue surrounding the Tour of Flanders – De Ronde – ever since the 1910s, when French teams barred their Belgian riders from taking part in the race, precisely because of its nationalist connotations. In 1924, during Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship, the Basque Country, through the sports newspaper *Excelsior*, launched the Gran Premio Excelsior, a route that embodied the motto ‘Zazpiak Bat’ – meaning seven Basque territories united by a single language.

It was Hitler who also exploited cycling: Albert Richter dominated the German cycling scene in the 1930s and was coached by Ernst Berliner, a former Jewish cyclist and a father figure who encouraged him to move to Paris. During the 1934 World Championships in Leipzig, Richter refused to give the Nazi salute and would not have the swastika on his jersey. And, when the Second World War broke out, he declared: ‘I cannot become a soldier. I cannot shoot at the French; they are my friends.’ He did not get away with it: the Gestapo arrested him, sent him to a re-education camp, where he was shot. Fortunately, thanks to the tenacity of Berliner – the Jewish man whom Richter had never wanted to abandon – the memory of the German cyclist has not been lost, and the velodrome in Cologne, his home city, has been named after him. From Hitler to Mussolini: how can we forget the words of Costante Girardengo, director of *Italia*, after Bartali’s victory on the Izoard in 1938: ‘Everything had happened just as the Fascist regime had intended. Fascism wanted a complete experience in the Tour de France. I received orders. I carried them out.’ It was Ginetaccio, too, who, with his victory in the 1948 Tour, saved Italia from civil war following the assassination attempt on Togliatti.

Even beyond Cortina, cycling symbolises self-determination: the Polish cyclist Stanisław Królak, who won the 1956 Peace Race, foreshadowed the country’s first uprising against the government of the People’s Republic, which was regarded as a puppet of Moscow. The 1969 Tour of Yugoslavia celebrated its 25th anniversary with a route passing through all six republics to highlight – as Tito intended – the country’s diversity, thereby strengthening its unity. In 1981, the Coors Classic, the leading race in the US, invited the formidable Soviet riders via a telex sent by Coors, the brewer often associated with Reagan and the Republicans’ hardline stance against Moscow: the ‘treacherous communists’ were defeated by Greg LeMond and by a Cold War that had spilled over into the pages of the newspapers.